Legends and Myths
From
Wales
By
Graham Watkins
Volume Two
Stories from North Wales
Copyright 2012 Graham Watkins
Cover image Summit of Mount Snowdon from the Fingerstone
Introduction
Wales is a land filled with legends. Every breathtaking valley, towering mountain and shimmering lake has its own tale to tell. This book will help you discover secluded rivers, castles and golden beaches all with stories to entertain and enchant. The culture of Wales and its history are interwoven with legends that cross the centuries. The very land itself adds to the mysticism, with its variety and beauty.
Here, for your enjoyment, are sixteen Welsh legends that have been retold and linked to the land where the stories took place. This book, volume two in the series of five, deals with popular legends from North Wales.
Discover Mount Snowdon and look down on the Pass of Arrows where King Arthur fell, mortally wounded, in his last battle. Learn about the magical island of Llanddwyn where Princess Dwynwen, the patron saint of lovers, made her home. Read about Gelert's grave and learn how the faithful hound died at his master's hand. Hear how a Welshman discovered America and left an indelible mark in that great land. These are just some examples of the stories you will find in these pages.
Many pieces of Welsh folklore are repeated and there are variations of the same story relating to different places. At the same time, some places are associated with several legends. To avoid confusion and repetition, where legends are similar, I have used the story I liked best and omitted the rest. No offence is intended to partisan interests. One advantage I found of rewriting the more ancient legends is the licence to embroider. That is what storytellers have done for centuries. Nothing changes and I admit that I had a lot of fun adding my own interpretation to some of the tales.
The legends I have included are a diverse mixture. There are love stories, tales of heroic deeds, foolishness, greed, fables and humour. The cast includes fair maidens, wicked tyrants, explorers, kings and ordinary folk quietly going about their business.
If you want to learn more about Welsh legends and myths there are four other volumes in the series to read or listen to which I am sure you will equally entertaining.
Graham Watkins
Garnlwyd
2012
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1?Myfanwy the Beautiful
Chapter 2?The Men of Harlech
Chapter 3?The Red Hand of Chirk
Chapter 4?Dwynwen The Blessed
Chapter 5?The Gwiber of Penmachno
Chapter 6?The Demon of Cerrigydrudion
Chapter 7?The Death of Arthur
Chapter 8?Prince Idwal
Chapter 9?Prince Madoc Sails to America
Chapter 10?Maelgwn Gwynedd and the Yellow Eye
Chapter 11?The Legend of Gelert
Chapter 12?Llyn Tegid and the Harp
Chapter 13?The Curse of Nant Gwrtheyrn
Chapter 14?St. Eilian and the Leaping Deer.
Chapter 15?Seiriol The Fair
Chapter 16?St. Patrick's Shipwreck
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Chapter 1?Myfanwy the Beautiful
High above the little town of Llangollen, on the top of a great mountain, sits Castell Dinas Bran or Crow City Castle, named after the crows and ravens that lurk amid its towering battlements. In the 13th Century an Earl and his family lived at Castell Dinas Bran. The Earl was a wealthy man and owned much of Powys. He had a daughter named Myfanwy, which means beloved in English and he loved her very much. Myfanwy was spoiled as a child. Her father showered her with gifts of every kind. He surprised her with fine dresses of silk and damask. He had succulent foods bought to the castle for her and gave her servants orders to carry out her every wish.
Myfanwy quickly learned how to get her own way. A sly tear, a scowl or a scream would strike fear into the hearts of her servants; they knew the power of her wrath and the strength of her sulks. The years passed and Myfanwy grew into womanhood. As she grew she changed from a pretty girl into a woman of beauty. Her long black hair and dark piercing eyes enchanted all who saw her.
News of her great beauty spread and suitors travelled from across the land to woo her, eager to win her hand and, some said, to inherit her father's wealth. A brave knight climbed the mountain to the castle and sang in praise of her loveliness but she sneered at his songs and chatted loudly while he sang. Crushed by her rudeness, the knight retreated down the mountain.
A famous scholar journeyed to Castell Dinas Bran and recited a fine poem flattering her beauty. Myfanwy scoffed at his sonnet and left the castle hall while the bard was still speaking. The frustrated poet left the castle and returned to the town below. Others tried to win Myfanwy but all were treated with the same contempt. No flattery of song or verse could satisfy Myfanwy. She vainly knew she was more beautiful than any man could describe in tune or rhyme.
Disappointed suitors filled the alehouses of Llangollen exchanging tales of woe and drowning their sorrows. They sang to each other mournfully of Myfanwy's beauty and her conceited vanity.
Hywell ap Einion was a dreamer of a man. Night after night he listened to the songs and the poems. He had never seen Myfanwy but the descriptions of her beauty thrilled him. He fell in love with her long black hair, her dark piercing eyes and her soft white cheeks. His romantic mind searched for a way to win her for himself, but how, for Hywell was a penniless youth. Would the beautiful daughter of an Earl ever look on him as an equal, worthy of marriage?
The years passed and Hywell grew tall and strong. His upright frame and easy smile made him popular with the girls but there was only one vision that filled his heart, the dream that he had never seen, Myfanwy.
Myfanwy had never married and still lived in the castle high above the town. No man had flattered her enough to win her heart. Each evening, after work, Hywell would look up at the castle, longing for a glimpse of Myfanwy.
One summer night, as he watched the mountain and the castle, he heard the sound of sweet music coming from the river. He went down to the water where he found an old man playing a lute and singing. The melody danced and toyed with the noise of the tumbling water. The song entranced Hywell, as it teased and thrilled, with sensations that aroused his emotions.
The old man stopped playing and placed the lute on the ground.
'Old man, will you teach me how to play the lute and sing?' asked Hywell. The old man looked at Hywell.
'Why do you want to play and sing like an old man?' asked the old man.
'Old man, your music has no age. It speaks of love and happiness, of bravery and beauty. These things are timeless. I see now that with such music I can win my love,' replied Hywell.
'You speak of love, which is good. I will teach you to play the lute and sing but the song you use to win your love must be your own,' said the old man. They agreed and each evening the two men would sit by the river. The old man was a good teacher and Hywell an eager pupil. He quickly mastered the lute and, as he sang, his voice grew strong and confident.
Each day, while he worked, his mind was busy. He thought of the beauty of Myfanwy, of his love for her and hers for him. The words in his mind formed into couplets and verses. The song grew longer and his heart filled with pleasure.
'You are ready,' said the old man, one evening, 'Is your song ready?' Hywell picked up the lute and began to play. He sang softly at first and then louder as his emotions took hold. Towards the end of the song, his voice grew quiet, as if his love was close by his side. He sto
pped and looked at the old man, wanting his approval. Tears of joy ran down the old man's face.
'You are ready. Go now, tonight, and win Myfanwy,' he said, pointing at the castle. Hywell took his lute and climbed the mountain. The castle gate was open. There was a feast in the great hall. Sir Ralph, a knight from a distant land, was visiting. Hywell entered the hall and saw Myfanwy for the first time. His heart filled with joy. She was more beautiful than he had imagined. He strode nervously across the hall and stood before the high table. The Earl looked down at him and saw the lute.
'Come, play a merry tune for us,' he commanded. The guests ignored Hywell and continued to laugh and talk. Hywell lifted his lute and began to sing, quietly at first and then more loudly as his courage grew. The crowd fell silent as he sang. He looked at Myfanwy. Her dark clear eyes returned his gaze without blinking. He sang of her beauty and she smiled. He praised her pale cheeks and she blushed. His words fell like caresses on her long black hair and she laughed, but still her dark clear eyes returned his steady gaze.
Hywells' song ended quietly, like a conspiracy between two lovers. Myfanwy stood and applauded and the guests cheered. Hywell bowed and advanced towards Myfanwy. She offered her hand and he kissed it, confident that he had won her heart. Hywell was invited to sit at the top table, by the Earl and the feasting continued late into the night.
Next morning Hywell returned to the castle but Myfanwy had gone.
'Where is Myfanwy?' asked Hywell. The Earl looked at the impudent serf before him.
'She is promised in marriage to another far more noble than you,' replied the Earl.
'But she loves me,' said Hywell.
'You're a fool. Myfanwy enjoyed your adulation but will never marry a peasant like you. She has gone with Sir Ralph. The marriage contract was signed yesterday,' said the Earl.
Hywell stumbled down the mountain, broken hearted. According to the legend, he wrote one last poem for Myfanwy and never spoke of her again.
The real author of the love poem, Myfannwy was the Welsh poet Richard Davies. It was set to music by Joseph Parry was published in 1875. The song is a favourite with Welsh male voice choirs. It ends in farewell.
I ddawnsio ganmlwydd ar dy rudd.
Anghofia'r oll o'th addewidion
A wnest i rywun, 'ngeneth ddel,
A dyro'th law, Myfanwy dirion
I ddim ond dweud y gair 'Ffarw?l'.
Dance for a hundred years or so.
Forget now all the words of promise
You made to one who loved you well,
Give me your hand, my sweet Myfanwy,
But one last time, to say 'farewell'.
Table of Contents
Chapter 2?The Men of Harlech
March ye men of Harlech bold, Unfurl your banners in the field,
Be brave as were your sires of old, And like them never yield!
What tho' evry hill and dale, Echoes now with war's alarms,
Celtic hearts can never quail, When Cambria calls to arms.
1860 English lyrics by W.H. Baker.
King Edward I built Harlech Castle as part of his steel ring of castles, designed to subdue the Welsh. The concentric design and its location, which enabled it to be re-supplied from the sea, made Harlech a formidable stronghold.
In 1404, Owain Glyndwr starved the English garrison until only 21 men were left and they surrendered. Glyndwr then used Harlech as his base for the next four years until the English set out to recapture the Castle. It took them 8 months and 1000 men to retake the fortress. Glyndwr vanished, Welsh nationalism was crushed and the English re-occupied Wales.
Most of North Wales, Gloucestershire and Cheshire became part of the Duchy of Lancaster and Welsh fighting men were recruited as Lancastrian soldiers. When Edward IV came to the throne of England on the 4th March 1461 the Civil War, known as the 'Wars of The Roses', had been an on and off affair for several years. The war between the Lancastrian and Yorkist sides of the Plantagenet dynasty was a running fight for the English throne.
Edward was a Yorkist but there was another claim for the English throne, the Lancastrian, Henry Tudor, 2nd Earl of Richmond was just four years old. Young Henry, a Welshman born in Pembroke from an illegitimate line, had a weak claim to the crown but Edward could not ignore the young pretender. Henry and his supporters fled the country in fear for their lives.
They travelled to Harlech Castle where the constable, a Welshman named Dafydd ap Ieuan, helped the party escape to Scotland. Henry Tudor then went on to France where he lived and grew to manhood under the protection of the French King. With Henry gone from Wales, Edward quickly overran the country, confiscating Lancastrian property and executing his enemies. Harlech was besieged but refused to surrender to the Yorkist army. The garrison continued to hold out and was re-supplied from the sea using the fortified stairway that reached 61m (200ft) down from the castle to the water. The castle continued to resist whilst the war raged across the kingdom. In 1465 the garrison was reinforced when Lancastrian, Sir Richard Tunstall, arrived with fresh soldiers. They held out for another three years until, in 1468 when, thinking that the Lancastrians had lost, they finally surrendered the Castle. The siege had lasted seven years. It was the longest siege in British history and Harlech was the last Lancastrian stronghold to capitulate.
Henry Tudor returned to the British Isles, landing in Pembrokshire in 1485. He gathered an army of 5000 men and marched east to attack the Yorkist King, Richard III at Bosworth Field. Richard was killed and Henry crowned himself Henry VII on the battlefield.
According to Shakespeare's play Henry III part 1, describing the start of the 'Wars of The Roses', the two sides of the war met in Temple Church, London where they chose red and white roses for their emblems. This is, actually, fiction since as late as 1485 when the Lancastrians, led by Henry Tudor, fought at Bosworth, they fought under a Red Dragon standard while the Yorkist's flag depicted a White Boar.
Only later, did the rose emblems gain significance when Lancastrian King Henry VII came to the throne. He married Princess Elizabeth of York to cement his position as King and end the war. Henry then combined the red rose of Lancashire with the white rose of Yorkshire creating a red and white 'Tudor' rose to demonstrate the unity of his kingdom.
The Welshman, Henry Tudor, was an able administrator who went on to establish a peaceful and stable society, which grew prosperous during his reign. The dynasty he started included Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth I, both of whom became powerful Monarchs.
Harlech Castle and the courage of its garrison, withholding a siege for seven long years, are celebrated in the stirring marching song 'Men of Harlech'. It has been the regimental tune for several Welsh Regiments and has been adopted by Canadian and Australian forces. There are a number of versions of the lyrics including one especially written for the 1964 film 'Zulu'. The battle at Rourke's Drift, South Africa, depicted in the film, was an action that took place in 1879 when 139 soldiers of the '24th Regiment of Foot', later renamed the 'South Wales Borderers' fought off an estimated 4000 Zulu warriors. Eleven Victoria Crosses were awarded, the highest number ever presented for a single action.
Visit Harlech today and you will see the Red Dragon still flying high and proud above the ramparts of the stronghold that is Harlech Castle.
Men of Harlech, stop your dreaming
Can't you see their spearpoints gleaming
See their warrior pennants streaming
To this battle field
As sung in the 1964 film 'Zulu'.
Table of Contents
Chapter 3?The Red Hand of Chirk
Lord Myddleton became a proud man when he learned that his beautiful young wife was with child. He had married late and needed to sire an heir to inherit his castle and estate before his ardour declined into old age. Lord Myddleton was a popular baron and the news of his wife's confinement was greeted with celebration in the towns and villages of the Marcher Lands. His castle at Chirk was a happy place with noble visitors arriv
ing each day to offer their congratulations to the old man and his pregnant wife.
The weeks passed and the baroness started to show. Her belly grew quickly and her anxious husband, for this was his first child, summoned the doctors. They prodded and pushed the young baroness and consulted at length.
'My Lord. There is nothing to fear. Your wife has healthy lungs and a strong heart. She will bear your sons and be a fine mother,' they reported.
'My sons?' cried the Baron.
'Aye my Lord,' replied the doctors. 'Your wife is with twins.' The baron was overjoyed with the news. But would they both be sons he wondered. If there were two sons which one would inherit his estate?' the baron asked his friends.
'Don't worry,' they said. 'One is sure to be a girl, then you can marry her off.' The baron started to worry. He needed to be sure.
'Perhaps the midwife can advise you,' suggested a squire.
'Fetch her at once,' commanded the baron. The midwife was a common woman, stout in frame and calm in nature. She listened quietly while the baron explained his problem.
'If there are two sons how will I know which should inherit my lands and title?' asked the baron. 'They cannot both be Baron of Chirk.' The midwife considered her lordship's question carefully before she replied.
'My Lord. Have no fear. The answer to your problem is plain enough. Is it not true that the first born son should inherit?' asked the woman.
'That is so,' replied the baron.
'Then, when the time comes I will tie a ribbon to the first baby that emerges to identify your first born child,' said the midwife. The baron liked the midwife's simple suggestion and agreed to her plan. The baroness continued to grow bigger as the months went by until; at last, the time arrived for the birth. A room was prepared and the baroness withdrew. The midwife issued instructions to the women of the castle. The fires were built up to keep the birthing room hot. Boiling water and towels were fetched. The baron and his squires waited for news in the great hall.
The contractions started. Slowly the top of a head began to emerge and then a tiny arm appeared. The midwife swiftly tied on a red ribbon. Her hands were slippery with blood.
'Push now, with all your might,' cried the Midwife. The baroness screamed and pushed. Then she stopped, tired and wanting it to end.
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